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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25493566">Sweet Nothings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivi1138/pseuds/vivi1138'>vivi1138</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Afterlife, Auror Partners, Bodily Fluids, Character Death, Depression, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hospitalization, Loneliness, Loss of strength, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Minor Character Death, Missions Gone Wrong, Muteness, POV Draco Malfoy, Physical Disability, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Terminal Illnesses, hopelessness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:29:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,985</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25493566</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivi1138/pseuds/vivi1138</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do when you lose the one you love? After a raid goes wrong, Draco navigates the waters of his grief and may very well lose himself in the process.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>H/D Hurt!Fest 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sweet Nothings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaveMaker/pseuds/WaveMaker">WaveMaker</a>, for beta-reading this tiny but oh so painful creation. </p><p>Additional warning in the end notes.</p><p>Please read the tags carefully and do not read this if you feel like you can't handle these tags at the moment. Your mental health is a lot more important than this little story. Take care of yourself.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It happens suddenly. A familiar jet of green light, the silence of a laugh cut short, the eerie motion of a body crumpling, too slow and too fast all at once. And that frozen smile, those green eyes losing their shine—it happens, and there’s nothing Draco can do to stop it.</p><p>He sits there with a hand buried in Harry’s hair and a palm pressed against his chest, and he doesn’t understand why Harry’s not moving, why he’s not breathing and why he’s so still. He sees movement out of the corner of his eye, and he knows voices are calling him, but he doesn’t hear them, they’re a blur of sound all around him, and they don’t matter because Harry is not blinking, why is he still staring, why is his gaze so empty?</p><p>He sits there until he’s no longer holding him; he sits and stares at the uneven stone floor. When it morphs into snow, he only notices because his robes are wet. His black robes. He doesn’t remember changing or why he’s outside. Again, he’s surrounded, a crowd of black fabric and black lace, a new voice droning in the background. He doesn’t know why Harry’s not there. Why Harry’s not holding him close and telling him they’ll be all right. Harry’s so good at that; he knows just how to soothe Draco if the memories of the war become too much—he’s the only one who can see past Draco’s sneers and has the patience to deal with his anger.</p><p>Then Draco’s no longer sitting, he’s breathing in the scent on Harry’s pillow and drowning. In the back of his mind, there’s an awareness he’s fighting against. He knows something’s wrong. He hasn’t slept alone in years; Harry’s side of the bed shouldn’t feel like ice under his shoulder. He tries to believe that Harry’s just visiting the Weasleys. Draco’s not welcome at the Burrow. Draco’s not welcome anywhere; Harry sometimes goes, if Draco insists. So that’s what happened, right? Draco’s mind is a tricky little thing; it tried to trip him up. So Draco knows what to do: he waits for Harry to come home.</p><p>Light falls onto the rumpled sheets and turns to darkness.</p><p>It does that quite a bit. Light, dark, and light again. Such an odd dance to witness.</p><p>At some point, there’s a scream, and he hears sobs and feels sharp nails digging into the flesh of his arms. He sees Pansy without truly seeing her; he knows she’s there, but why? After that, he’s in a bath, and he’s so tired, but Pansy won’t let him sleep, which is not surprising, because when has Pansy ever listened to him? A flash of dark skin and he almost calls out to Harry, since it’s boring to bathe alone, but it’s not Harry, Harry’s skin tone is a bit lighter, it’s Blaise, and he’s crying. Behind him, there’s something that shouldn’t be called a bed. It’s so filthy, and there are all kinds of fluids on it, why is Pansy making Draco look at it? Why is she shaking him?</p><p>Why is everything hurting?</p><p>Draco wakes up alone in a bright room that smells like healing potions. He raises his hand to block out the sun, and stares—that can’t be his hand. It’s too thin, like those people Draco tried to forget, the ones he and Harry couldn’t save in time. It’s the thinness of a starved man. Draco’s not hungry, though. He’s not sure he can feel anything.</p><p>Time ticks by, and Harry comes to him in a dream. He’s whispering sweet nothings into his ear when he thinks Draco’s asleep. He calls him love; Draco always tells him not to call him that, but in reality, he enjoys it. So he pretends to be in a deep slumber, only he sneezes, and Harry starts hitting him with a pillow and calling him a giant prat, and Draco laughs and laughs and <em>laughs</em>, and they roll on top of each other. They fuck. Harry holds him so close, Draco can barely catch his breath. He sinks each time he looks him in the eye, swallowed by an ocean of green. He drinks his moans and falls in love over and over again.</p><p>Everything stops and Draco’s back in his hospital room. At the foot of his bed, Harry watches him, arms crossed on his chest. He’s wearing Draco’s favourite cashmere sweater, the one with the wide-open neck that reveals his shoulders. He looks fantastic, even if he paired that sweater with an awful pair of trousers that Draco swears he threw away at some point.</p><p>“Hey,” he says, but his voice doesn’t work. That’s inconvenient.</p><p>Harry gives him a gentle smile, and the sunlight shines behind him like a shroud. “Hey, love. I miss you.”</p><p>Draco frowns. His eyes feel itchy, and there’s something stuck in his throat. <em>I miss you too</em>, he replies, still without a single sound, and that’s when it hits him.</p><p>He remembers, and he <em>knows</em>.</p><p>Harry’s dead. He’s dead, and he’s not coming back to hold Draco and his side of the bed will always be cold, and Draco can’t bear it. He remembers a headstone beside Lily and James Potter’s tombs and the poisonous streak of light that stole his love from him—he feels all of it. The pain is burning a hole through his chest, and he screams himself raw. The apparition moves closer, it even <em>smells</em> like Harry, and it speaks to him in soft murmurs, and Draco hears them but doesn’t want to listen; he’s torn apart, and he’s in so much pain.</p><p>When he wakes next, Harry’s gone. Draco is sedated, but he can piece the events back together. It becomes a familiar routine. The whispers are a constant companion; he has no idea if he can do what Harry wants—if he’ll ever have the will to grant him his wish, but Harry asked, no, pleaded, so what is there to hesitate about?</p><p>It’s summer when he goes back to work, and it takes a few days before he’s assigned desk-duty for reckless behaviour. He drowns his sorrow in endless, unresolved cases. He accepts the Weasel’s company in the quiet corner of the cafeteria where he sits to flee the noise—Draco’s very sensitive to the outside world now. The Weasel needs some peace, too. They leave the Auror department on the same day, without having planned any of it. Granger invites Draco for dinner, but that’s Draco’s limit.</p><p>It’s two years later, and Draco has yet to speak a word. He spends time in therapy or in a bed at St Mungo’s. When it gets too awful, and the temptation to cast a cutting curse at his neck becomes overwhelming, there’s always a wave of Harry’s scent bursting under his nose, and he can’t go through with it.</p><p>It’s Mother who decides to take him home, to where she’s living now, in the South of France. It’s a castle rising above lavender fields and a vineyard, and it doesn’t remind him of Harry at every corner. Draco eats little and sleeps his days away, locked in dreams where he’s laughing in Harry arms, where Harry brings him flowers and where they race on their brooms until they reach the sun.</p><p>It’s four years later and Draco’s thirty years old. Nestled in his arms, Scorpius is cooing, tiny hands waving in a futile attempt to grab onto Draco’s hair. Astoria asked if Draco wanted to call him Harry, but it didn’t feel right, and Harry had told him how much he loved the Black tradition of celestial names. It’s the only familial teaching he’s willing to keep.</p><p>Draco’s not in love with Astoria; she doesn’t love him, either, but they care for each other, and she understands that he refuses to speak. She doesn’t judge him. She doesn’t try to make him forget. Draco’s not in love, but he still loves her.</p><p>Scorpius grows, healthy, smart, cute and happy, and Draco sometimes whispers stories in his ear. Astoria knows he talks to their child and no one else and she lets him. When she gets sick and loses her battle, Draco’s only anchor is Scorpius, who tethers him to reality by merely existing.</p><p>Scorpius graduates and comes home and helps Draco walk among the fragrant fields of lavender, holding his waist at first, and soon pushing the chair Draco sits in. Draco can see that it pains his baby boy, that he’s faltering so fast when Scorpius still needs him. He’s not even fifty, but he’s so tired. He’s wasting away.</p><p>Mother and Scorpius accompany him as his body weakens.</p><p>It happens suddenly. They’re outside watching a meteor shower. It’s the first week of August; the evening is warm, the air smells like fruits and flowers and a bit like the nearby sea. Draco’s staring at the stars. The sky feels like it’s closing in on him, enveloping him in a soft embrace, and the stars get closer.</p><p>He wakes again; he’s standing up, and his legs don’t struggle under his weight, so he guesses it’s a good thing, and he looks around. It’s Diagon Alley, but it’s empty and too clean, and the colours are muted. It’s like someone took a picture and reduced the contrasts, but added more light. Draco’s also very short, because he can’t see above Fortescue’s ice-cream counter and that’s just nonsense, isn’t it?</p><p>He walks towards Gringotts and notices that every door is closed. There’s no garish orange prank store in sight, and the Nimbus 2000 graces the window of Quidditch Quality Supplies—somehow Draco knows he can’t stop there. Then one door opens, and he just goes along with it.</p><p>Mrs Malkin makes him stand on a small stool to measure him. She’s there, but she’s not, at the same time.</p><p>And she says “Hogwarts, dear?” and Draco knows, and he turns around so fast he almost falls from the stool. And Harry’s there, small and shy, messy hair taking over his head and baggy clothes hiding a body way too small for his age. Draco opens his mouth just as he sees a gleam in the little boy’s eyes. He holds out a shaking hand.</p><p>“Hi, I’m Draco Malfoy. It’s nice to meet you.” His voice doesn’t sound like that rasp whisper he’s using to talk to Scorpius.</p><p>Harry shakes his hand with a smile. “Hi! I’m Harry Potter. Are you a first-year too?”</p><p>Draco nods. “I—I hope we can be friends.”</p><p>Harry beams and blushes. “I’ve never had a friend before.” He looks outside, where Draco expects to see Hagrid, but there’s no one. “Do you want to come with me?” Harry asks.</p><p>“Come with you where?” <em>Please don’t leave without me</em>, is left unsaid.</p><p>“Home, of course.”</p><p>Draco’s heart leaps in his chest. It takes a second before he realises that he’s tall again, and Harry is grinning and squeezing his hands, and it’s his Harry, twenty-four years old and in love with Draco. They’re kissing before Draco can say anything, grasping at each other’s clothes and crying, and Harry takes Draco’s face between his palms and brushes Draco’s nose, cheeks and eyelids with his soft, slightly chapped lips. “I’m so proud of you. I love you so much, and you did it for me, you survived. I’ll never leave you again.”</p><p>Draco’s happy. He’s so, so brilliantly happy. They step out of the shop, and the street is full of people. Many are only known to him from pictures Harry hung in their apartment. But there’s Astoria, and Grandfather, Grandmother—they’re all here.</p><p>One day, he’ll be among them to welcome Mother and Pansy and Blaise and Scorpius, too. But right now, he only has eyes for the man who’s holding him and whispering sweet nothings into his ear.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Additional warnings: Major character death is for both Harry and Draco. Astoria's death to sickness also happens.</p><p>--</p><p>Remember to leave some love for the creator if you can! Come reblog this work and view others from this fest <a href="https://hd-hurtfest.tumblr.com/">HERE</a> on the H/D Hurt!Fest tumblr page!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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